A Cure for Nightmares
by you-blushed
Summary: At some point, everyone has nightmares. Clara is no exception, but that doesn't mean that she has to cope through them alone.


Clara is so fascinatingly different when she's asleep. That's the thing with humans - they're usually so guarded. Their emotions stay tucked away somewhere no-one can see them, waiting until they are either needed or they break free. Clara particularly has become a master of concealing things: her fear, her pain, her defenselessness. It often seems as though her feelings are folded up neatly, locked away and then covered with a thick shroud of confidence and faked fearlessness until no-one can see them any more, not unless they look hard enough.  
Until she goes to sleep.

Because when Clara goes to sleep, the bold, courageous persona that she dons so convincingly melts away. Perhaps that is why she is always reluctant to go to bed: she knows that to sleep is to surrender control of herself. Beneath the cloak is something new, something spellbinding in its stark contrast from everything you thought you knew about her.

Cocooned beneath the sheets, she sleeps on her side, scrunched up tight into a ball. Her arms drape across her face, seemingly shielding it. She is never still for much more than a couple of minutes: fidgeting and flinching and sometimes even lashing out in her dreams. Occasionally her fingers twitch, grabbing at things that aren't really there. Beads of sweat cover her body, and as the night goes on she only gets more agitated. Her breathing stutters and her heart races. Hushed whimpers and incomprehensible words spill from her mouth.  
"No, no, no, no," she mumbles in desperation. "Stop, stop it, pleasestopityou'rescaringme please I don't like this…" The whispers eventually fade back to silence.

There is only one thing that can stop these night terrors. He stands at the door, watching as she thrashes around, her back to him. There is something captivating about her fear; perhaps because of how raw it is, perhaps just because he has never seen it before. She is different in the world of her dreams; she is so fragile and afraid. He doesn't know this Clara: the terrified little girl. All he knows is that he needs to help her somehow. That is when his ear catches something, a particular utterance.  
"Doctor? Where are you please help me I'm scared…"  
She speaks louder now, as if she knows that he can hear. The words fade into soft sobs and she continues to suffer, trapped inside her own head.

She needs him to help her. Cautiously, he walks over to the side of her bed and his hand reaches down and strokes her cheek, swiping at strands of her hair that have lost their way amid the chaos of her flailing. "There, I'm here."

Immediately, she goes completely still, her breathing hitching at the feeling of his fingers brushing her skin. Beneath the covers, her chest slows as her breaths return to normal pace, though they are still considerably laboured. It is as if the low hum of his voice and the feel of his hand has an instant calming effect: her body alleviates slightly and she shifts a millimetre or two, a movement that is barely noticeable.

"Oh God." Near-silent and breathy, the words are a telltale sign of how relieved she must be to feel his touch, wherever she is in the depths of her nightmares. She hasn't woken up, but it as as though his presence has dragged her closer to the surface than she was before. "Help me, please help me."

"It's okay. You're okay, Clara."

A single teardrop rolls down from her eye and splashes onto her nose. He can only wander what she's seeing behind her closed eyes, but whatever it is, it's not nice, and she shouldn't have to face it any longer.

"I-It's me, I'm here. It's just a dream Clara, wake up." Gently, he tugs at her shoulder, rocking her back and forth. "Wake up, you can do it."

She inhales sharply, and he momentarily freezes for fear of having agitated her, his hand still heavy on her shoulder until he pulls it away. Rolling onto her back, her face emerges from the shadows, glistening with tear stains. She stares up at the ceiling coldly, and her lips tremble slightly. She doesn't so much as acknowledge his existence as he stands over her, numbed by the memory of whatever ordeal she has just been through. The only sound is her panting for breath, as if there isn't quite enough oxygen in the room. She doesn't do anything nor say anything, she just lies there, wild-eyed. The silence becomes unnerving, but the Doctor makes no attempt to break it, too worried that anything he does might startle her more. After a minute or so of him warily watching her, she speaks.

"I'm so sorry."

Crouching to her level, his hand reaches out and strokes her face. Her head is feverishly hot, almost too hot to touch.

"Don't be. You're okay now, and I'll stay here with you, if you want. Just go back to sleep."

"I-I don't think I can."

Her gaze drifts down from the ceiling to his face. Her eyes are silently begging him to stay with her, but she doesn't say it aloud. Then again, it isn't as if she has a shred of her usual masquerade intact.

"Could you.. stay?"

Quivering, her hand pulls back the quilt and taps the spot of bed beside her, signalling for him to join her. He obliges, perching awkwardly on the edge of the mattress. She giggles at his uncomfortableness, be it shakily, and he smiles down at her. It's comforting to see that at least a little bit of his Clara has returned, even if it just means that she's trying to rebuild the facade between them.

"Come on, you can get in. No funny business though, mister." Definitely his Clara.

He shrugs off his jacket and lets it fall to the floor, where it lands on top of his already removed shoes. Then his legs slip beneath the covers, parallel to hers, and he flops back onto the pillow. The bed is narrow - it's only a single bed - and he realises how close they are, even though she has notably moved up to let him in. Side by side, their hips and shoulders touching, they lie in the silence for a while, just looking up at the nothingness of the ceiling. He slips his hand into hers loosely, interlocking their fingers, and feels that her palm is still slightly clammy. Everything suddenly seems so silently intimate, and there is no need for words, so they just stare up into the darkness. Eventually he tilts his head to face her, and she looks back wearily.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Much better now."

Wriggling around in the little space he has, he manages to turn onto his side. Staring back into her big brown eyes, his thumb strokes the hand he is holding. He sighs at her pityingly.

"You are so brave, Clara. So, so brave."

Another tear streams down her face and forms a neat little pool on the pillow. His hand wriggles its way up from where it is wrapped around hers and cups her cheek, scooping in between the pillow and her skin and wiping away the cool trail that the teardrop left behind. She rolls onto her side too, squishing his hand beneath her cheek. Suddenly, they seem so much nearer to each other than they were a few seconds ago. Their faces are so close that the tips of their noses rub together. Finding the perfect angle, he tilts his head slowly and then leans in, locking his eyes onto hers the whole time as they look back, clouded and tired. When their open lips touch, he kisses her slowly and deliberately, keeping his eyes wide as hers close just in case he panics her. When she kisses him back, his eyes shut too, and he smiles slightly against her lips. They breathe into each other's noses gingerly, the warm breath mingling between them.

"Thank you," she murmurs between the movements of his mouth.

They stay like that for some time, wrapped up in each others arms, listening to the little noises made by their moving lips.  
When they finally part, he sees that she looks so much more peaceful than before. Now she just looks tired, without the distress. She goes to speak, but he beats her to it.

"Shhh. Time to sleep. Goodnight, brave heart Clara."

Just because Time Lords don't need to sleep doesn't mean that they can't, it just makes it a bit harder. The Doctor has never been more grateful for this fact. Every precious second that he stays awake is another chance for him to be awed a little more by Clara; to feel her breath on his cheeks, to feel the little shifts of her body beneath her baggy pyjamas, to hear the occasional gibberish mumbles that stream from her lips. She lies on her back, and he snuggles up to her on his side, observing. He fiddles with her hair lazily, making thin plaits in every way he knows. On more than one occasion, he has to remind himself to breathe after forgetting to, but breathing doesn't matter. Nothing matters, except from her, and him, and the way they are entangled in this bed that is much too small for two.

She slips back into nightmares four times that night, but he is prepared now, and he knows what to do. Weeping, she grabs at his shirt and pulls him close like an oversized teddy bear, and whispers hysterically into his chest. He pulls her against him as close as he can, wrapping one arm around her waist and putting one hand on the back of her head and tucking it under his chin. _It's okay, Clara, I'm here_ he utters again and again, until he has dragged her back to consciousness. Sobs turn to sniffles, and the double beating of his hearts lulls her back to sleep. It is easy to tell when she is gone again; the grip of her delicate fingers on the fabric of his shirt loosens and she falls away from him a little with the relaxing of every muscle in her body. She is limp in his arms as he lowers her carefully onto her back.

"Goodnight, Clara."

Eventually, even the Doctor can't stay awake. For the first time in centuries, he drifts off into a deep, peaceful sleep, his arm draped over her stomach and his leg caught between hers. During the night they become a mass of tangled limbs and ruffled hair; her shoulder becomes his pillow and her fingers curl across his face. Whenever Clara stirs, however slightly, the Doctor adjusts accordingly, shadowing her movements even though he is far too deep in slumber to realise. The warmth of his body against her loose pyjamas comforts her, and the feeling of her dainty fingers on his cheek has the same effect on him. For the rest of the night, the only sound is of the beating of three hearts together and the occasional rustling of bedcovers.

He wakes up first. Flickering open, his eyes water a little as he lets out a wide yawn. The side of his face is pressed up against her shoulder; one of her fingers has fallen between his lips; his hand has journeyed beneath her pyjama top and is resting on the curve of her bare waist. He attempts to detach himself cautiously, but her muscles kick into action as she shudders awake beneath him. Her chest rises as she breathes in deeply, and then her eyes snap open. At first, her face is graced with a look of disorientation, but as she looks down at the mop of floppy, brown hair that rests on her shoulder, it is replaced with a tiny smile. The Doctor cranes his neck to look up at her and grins, but all he can see on her expression is _I have no idea what's going on_.

"Morning." his tone manages to be charming, relaxing and a little bit cheeky all at once.

"Um, good morning." He can almost see her brain work as it pieces together the memories of the previous evening. "You… stayed." She speaks matter-of-factly, and somewhat carefully. "I was… and then you were here, and you woke me up, and got in… and then we…" She chuckles. "And then you stayed."

"Of course I did."

"You didn't have to."

"What if I wanted to?"

She shoots him a skeptical look, and then leans down to kiss him: a boisterous, clumsy kiss that only lasts a few seconds. He glides his fingers through her hair gently. She rolls onto her side as their lips interweave, and when she pulls her lips away, her forehead stays pressed up against his.

"Thank you," she whispers.

"Hmm?"

"For being there."

"As long as you're okay." He leans back, away from her, and the stare of his eyes into hers intensifies. "I just want you to be okay, Clara."

He can tell that she wants to reply, to assure him that she'll be fine, but she can't. She breaks his gaze. Tears well up in her eyes, so she wipes at her forehead to try and hide it. He notices; her attempts are feeble.

"Don't cry, hey." Stroking her face, his thumb wipes the underneath of her eyes dry. "Clara."

The sound of his voice saying her name gets her attention, and she looks back up reluctantly.

"What was it? What did you dream about?"

"I-It's not always the same, but I'm always on my own, and it's dark and cold and I don't know where I am and you're not there and…" the words spill from her mouth all at once, then dry up as quickly as they came.

"'Always'? This happens a lot?" His own eyes begin to fill with tears, and his voice cracks. "Clara… you should have told me."

She wants to say more, but only manages to choke out a couple of words. "I'm sorry."

"Listen to me, Clara. From now on, I'll be there, every night, and I am never, ever going to let you feel alone again. Okay? And if the nightmares come back, you just grab on tight, okay, and I'll make them go away. I promise. There's no need to be brave any more. You've done plenty of that."

She nods, and it means as much as a thousand words ever could. He presses a soft kiss to her forehead, then replaces it with his own forehead. Her eyes close, so he does the same. She sighs, and he pauses for a minute before speaking.

"Alright?"

"Alright."

She jumps slightly as his lanky arms slip around her waist and drag her in as tight as possible. He whispers.

"I think you need something really special. Something like…" she feels the skin of his forehead crinkle with thought against hers. "…breakfast in bed, as made by me. A proper Earth breakfast. Pancakes, full English, cereal, whatever. I can feel your stomach grumbling, so you can't say no."

Quizzically, Clara's eyes open and gaze at him. She has perked up a little, but he can't tell whether it's at the prospect of breakfast or because he is being cheery. It doesn't matter; she's happier.

"Um… okay?"

"So what would you like?"

"Erm… I don't know. I could kill some pancakes, but to be honest I think I could pretty much eat anything."

"Pancakes it is. But not just pancakes, there'll be amazing toppings too. You'll have to wait and see though."

She attempts a smile, but it clearly doesn't go as well as planned. Planting a quick kiss on her cheek, he practically hops out of bed, and makes his way to the door. He is still wearing the same clothes from yesterday, although now his shirt is a little ruffled and his bow tie is askew. When he reaches the doorway, he pauses, then spins on his heels to face her.

"And, um, you know when I said 'made by me'? Well, I might cheat a little bit."

"A little bit?"

"I happen to be on good terms with Nigella Lawson, and she may or may not owe me a favour after a bet we had about when sausage rolls were invented. I cheated at that too actually."

"You're going to get Nigella Lawson to cook us breakfast?"

"Yeah, probably. I'm a rubbish liar, I can't cook." She smiles at him, and seeing some genuine happiness on her face makes him feel wonderful. "I'll only be gone a few minutes to you, I'll pop the TARDIS's time acceleration circuit on. Actually, it probably isn't going to work properly, so I'll wham it up a bit and let's say… two minutes? Two minutes. I'll see you in two minutes."

"Your hair looks ridiculous."

"Oi!" He tries to sound annoyed, but does nothing to mask his grin as he runs his fingers through the mass of unkempt hair atop his head.

"Doctor, before you go…"

"Yes?"

"You stayed here with me. You stayed right here next to me and we slept through the night, and you slept too, with your head on my shoulder. So what do Time Lords dream about?"

His face is blank for a few seconds, but then it lights slowly with a smile as a comeback comes to mind.

"Time Lords dream about a girl with eyes that shine brighter than the stars and silky, chocolatey hair that falls perfectly over her shoulders as she sleeps. A girl who can warm up the inside of a person better with one quick smile than several cups of steaming coffee. They dream about Clara Oswald."


End file.
